Page 18 of Dating Goals
“Play your card,” Colin interrupts, tapping the table impatiently.
I glance down, having completely lost track of what’s happening.
“So, this card beats that one?” I ask before laying down a card. The others exchange knowing smirks.
I second guess my choice, picking up another card at random, earning groans from around the table.
“Ah, you had the shield!” Lars shakes his head.
“Right, sorry, I?—”
“Ha!” Evan slaps down a Jack with a flourish. “Trump suit! Pay up, hockey man!”
The guys burst into cheers as Evan sweeps my twenty francs from the pile. I watch my money disappear, feeling like I just got played in more ways than one.
“Maybe we should go over those rules again?”
“Next hand will be better!” Colin declares, already dealing new cards. “Now you understand the game, yes?”
I really don’t, but their eager faces make it hard to back out now.
A sharp voice cuts through the pub, making the men at the table freeze. The Swiss German words snap like a whip, and even though I don’t understand them, the tone is crystal clear.
“Ich han euch scho hundert mal gseit, ihr söllet nid mit touriste charte spiele!”
The guys groan collectively.
I know that voice.
I turn around and there she is. Anika comes around from behind the bar, hands on her hips, glaring at my new “friends.” Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, wisps framing her face. She’s wearing a vintage Depeche Mode T-shirt that looks like it’s been well-loved.
My new card buddies shrink under her fierce gaze as she continues her tirade. Colin’s mustache twitches nervously while Lars suddenly finds his empty beer glass fascinating.
“These gentlemen,” she switches to English, turning to me. “They know very well that Jass takes years to master. And they are playing with a special Swiss deck.” She extends her hand toward Evan. “Give his money back.”
“But, Anika!” Evan starts to protest.
“Now.” Her eyes narrow. “Or maybe we can discuss your tab?”
Evan’s face turns as red as his flannel shirt. And just like that, my twenty francs slide back across the table.
“Sorry,” Lars mumbles, studying the floor.
I pick up the money, fighting back a grin as I watch these grown men squirm under Anika’s disapproving stare.
There’s something about the way she carries herself, like she could take on a bear and the bear would apologize. I’m finding it absolutely fascinating.
She signals me to follow her to the bar, and like a puppy, I trail after her. I claim the same barstool as she sets a shot glass in front of me.
“These guys,” she tells me. “They pull this trick on tourists all the time. I tell them to stop, but they’re stubborn.”
She gets a bottle of whiskey and opens the lid.
“Oh no, thanks,” I say, waving it off. “I don’t want a shot.”
She squints one eye at me and pours anyway. “This is for me.”
“Oh.”
